I nearly cancelled class last night.

I wanted to.

It’s been an intense week at home and honestly I felt like I wasn’t going to show up and give a class that supported anyone.

But I paused.

Because the idea that it is my job to support anyone in class sounds well intentioned and fitting, but also feels rooted in a more complex colonial lens that says “I’m the teacher and those who come to class need something from me” – which is icky as hell!

So I decided to go.

For me.

Yes I’d committed. Yes there was the element of it being a pre-booked session… but I was ready to postpone it until I decided it was for me.

Because showing up for me was a way for me to be there messy and human, and make mistakes and laugh, without the idea that I was ‘leading a class’ anymore.

And that felt good.

And in the end, class was messy and human and I got m uddled up but laughed and shared and it was beautiful to be in a space with other humans. I listened to a couple of songs on the drive in, and I sat for a whole 3 minutes listening to some Mantras before starting.

I set intentions like every week and then as people came in I felt my body’s gratitude that I’d shown up.

Was it perfect, no? Did it mean something, absolutely.

More than that though, I got to reflect on why I wanted to cancel, and undo some of the intensely woven conditioning we have in the wellness industry about what yoga classes mean – I’m not any better or worse for teaching, but I am evolving, and that’s magick.

With love,

Rohana x